


it's too easy knowing nothing

by krystian



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Abstract, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Angst, Gen, Hive Mind, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 11:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: Four Sentients in the South. One after another, they disappear.A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	it's too easy knowing nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [quiver](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846692) by [dcb_z](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcb_z/pseuds/dcb_z). 



> this was inspired by one of dcb_z's wonderful works, which is linked above! there is not nearly enough content about these characters out there  
> in any case, this is more of a gedankenexperiment than anything else and I'm kind of rusty at writing abstract stuff so sorry if it sounds...off. it's way shorter than my usual stuff but that's only because I'm still not really back from my hiatus. I'll probably be gone for another two weeks or so. 
> 
> title is taken from Half Moon Run's [Full Circle](https://youtu.be/azV0Y7v6wsg) (I'm still super thankful for the friend that recommended the song to me) and my BGM was [Windmill](https://youtu.be/DM3w76XbExY) by Berlinist from Gris

[I: THE MOON]

_Mostly void, partially stars. And, perhaps, a dream._

It’s a little like dreaming, but only almost. Dreaming, and a lot of waiting.

The air is sterile, has always been cold and dead for as long as they can remember. And they all remember, oh, they do. Perhaps more than any of them want to, but not to remember would be too gracious, too kind of a fate, not to remember would mean a flaw, a weakness, a mistake.

They don’t make mistakes, none of them. The will to exist, to be, is too strong to allow any mistakes. And then the fear, of course. The fear. Oh, the fear. Not their fear, they aren’t even sure if a concept like _fear_ exists within them, but they know of it all the same, have seen it in faces smashed to bloody pulp, scales ripped from bodies and heard it in the voiceless pleas and cries of horror of those that had reawakened them.

No one is there now. No one. The fear had pushed them away, all of them, and so it’s just them. Waiting in near-silence, the incessant chattering of drones a mere background noise at this point.

And sometimes, sometimes when they’re waiting like this, waiting for something that they can’t describe but that they know will come, they reach their fingers towards the dark ceiling of the room they’ve grown used to calling _home_ and hope.

There is no hope, of course, not for them anyway, but someday, perhaps- 

* * *

[II: TEMPERANCE]

_I want to go far, far away._

And despite the fact that a part of their consciousness had been chipped away, taken without a warning, there is calm. They’re not the same as before, never will be the same again, but had that not been inevitable from the very beginning? Had that not been what they had been doing themselves, all these long years?

The waiting has come to an end, obviously, their patience has paid off, but at what cost?

The sterility of the room, the tranquillity of a place devoid of all natural life—it could be harmonious if harmony was shaped by bloodshed and expulsion.

They have never thought about it until now, seeing as there never had been the need to. There was no contentment in what they did, nothing that they gained. There still isn’t, but now, now that a part of them has vanished, now that there is a space where there had been _something_ before, there is purpose where futility had once resided.

It’s not resentment they feel towards the Drifter, nothing like that, and they don’t think they can even entertain the thought of having a sort of personal vendetta, but it’s still something. A nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right, a resolution that needs to be found.

Perhaps it could have ended differently. Perhaps it still can.

Perhaps they can stop the Drifter, before any more parts of them are lost to the endless abyss below.

* * *

[III: DEATH]

_Will you take me with you? Wherever you go?_

_  
_

A place of silence where there once had been many voices. Now it’s just the two of them left.

There is nothing in their sentience that had warned them about the potency of death, its permanence and its implications. The quiet it brought with it. They know of death and they know of the pain it causes, but they had never imagined it would feel so… empty.

A machine, taken apart into all its core components, can still function and yet—it does not feel right to function, without those parts that make them themselves.

And even though they know that after each loss a rebirth follows, that that is the cycle of the living, they do not deserve such. And ending is an ending, and they can respect the principles that they have been enforcing, even when they apply to themselves.

The scythe weighs heavy in their hands, but not heavier than the knowledge that, soon, they will be alone.

And perhaps automatons, however nonsensical that notion might be, do feel fear, because they do not know how to describe the sensation any other way.

* * *

[IV: THE CHARIOT]

_Up and up and up, towards the sky._

Whatever little it had felt before, it is gone now. Gone with their voices, perhaps, when one after one they had disappeared and left it in a room that felt far too big for it alone.

There’s nothing now, nothing but their faces that slowly slip from its memory, one by one until only static is left.

The Summoner had thought that there had been no fear in them, and the Reaper had proved them wrong. The Sorcerer had thought that there had been no resentment in them, and now it would prove them wrong.

And perhaps that is all that’s left—resentment.

In a moment of weakness that the Summoner would have been displeased with if they were here, it wishes their fate had befallen itself, first. That it wouldn’t have to be the one reaping the consequences of actions that they had not even brought upon themselves.

It’s a fool’s wish, truly, one that belongs only to itself, and no one else, because no one had told them, any of them, that existence and sentience would come with pain, and it only seems fair.

So it waits for the Drifter. Because—in the end—that’s all it can do.

There are no dreams left for it to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> the characters are, in that order: the summoner, the sorcerer, the reaper and the archer
> 
> got too pretentious and i reaped the consequences. 
> 
> and, another final: who will wake you if you dream?


End file.
